


not quite frightful yet not quite delightful

by Zip001



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Spirits, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zip001/pseuds/Zip001
Summary: Inspired by the day of the dead. Zip001's Gentle Chillers (TM).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> it me
> 
> (First chapter, italicizes words in 'single' quotation marks are from GRRM).

It was a curious thing how quickly fear spreads. It starts with a faint feeling of unease. Then a mere whisper - _did you hear of what happened last night?_ \- which grows stronger and builds until it becomes hysteria.

Sansa knew fear - she knew of the feeling of utter helplessness and abject terror as she waited to be beaten and publicly shamed and as everyone she loved and cared for were killed or taken away from her until she was all alone. She knew how easily her fears could either immobilize her or make her mad and paranoid, seeing betrayal and darkness even when there was none as she did when she walked quickly away from Lady Brienne.

So it was amusing at first when the tables seemed to be turned. First Janos Slynt, then Ilyn Payne, Meryn Trant, and Boros Blount. Each had their eyes pecked out, and each died a horrific death. Janos was beheaded like her father. Ilyn had a long spear rammed through his head in one ear and out the other. Meryn was disemboweled. Boros fell to his death, impaled by the long spikes in the dry moat surrounding the Red Keep. They were hateful men who likely had many enemies. She prayed for their deaths, beseeching both the old and new gods, many times before; but they could not have died merely because she wished their deaths.

They all suspected her. There were whispers that she had the blood of the First Men and conjured spirits to avenge her father and to punish those that strip and beat her. Others believed her to be a witch or even that she was the Night's Queen ' _with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars_.' Even Lord Arys Oakheart knelt before her, begging for forgiveness, saying that he tried to not hurt her and vowing to protect her. With the exception of Sandor, the other members of the King's Guard fled. Frightened, the mad King and the cruel Dowager Queen sequestered her in the luxurious suite in the Maidenvault, putting a stop to her public strippings and beatings. Only Pod came to deliver her meals.

Yet that did not stop the deaths. Maester Qyburn's battered body was covered with numerous puncture wounds and hung by chains to slowly bleed to death. Then the body of the Mockingbird was found, piece by piece, each of his bones appeared to be chewed and gnawed by a wild animal.

She thought she knew. 

Before each death, Bran spoke to her or more accurately showed her visions of the man that was to die. Those visions of what they done to her and her family filled her with such rage and when she slept, she saw those monsters suffer and die. It always started with the crows swooping down upon them, scratching and pecking out their eyes. And then the horror truly began - each death became more gruesome. The true horror was her delight in their suffering.

But what really troubled her more was that her sweet little brother was involved, the little boy who dreamed of being a knight and enjoyed the same stories of valor and songs of true love that she did it seemed so long ago. She had hoped that while his body was broken, his heart and spirit would still soar, unlike hers, that darkness did not take over and taint him as it did her. Some days she only saw red, red like the blood that was spilt the night before. She thought her gory visions came from him.

That night as she waited for Bran, she mentally prepared what she wanted to say to him - reminding him that he was good and kind. Again, there were visions - first she saw what happened right before Bran's fall, then of their father stupidly confronting Cersei, of Cersei commanding the death of their household, the ambush and slaughter of their household, and the spiked heads still lining the walls of the Red Keep. But before the rage engulfed her, threatening to choke her, she reached for her young brother and cried. She cried for him, their father, herself, Arya and everyone. She wanted desperately to go back, wanted everything to be back where they were before King Robert Baratheon and his Royal party visited their home. Bran finally spoke with such finality that they could not go home, they could not forget. _Never forget._

She saw the crows breaking through the window of Cersei's room, the spiders and the ants coming in from the cracks on the floor and the walls and the ceilings as the Dowager Queen screamed but no one came to save her. She called for her love, but he was long lost to her. Her eldest son who was cowering in his own room, awaiting his own fate. Her father had foresaken her and returned back to Casterly Rock. None of her guards were left, not even the Kettleback brothers who were the first to leave her. The birds began to peck at her and clawing her. The ants and spiders crawled onto her gown and onto her skin.

"Stop it, Bran!" Sansa screamed.

It was then Bran turned his face and his white eyes towards her. 

"I have done nothing - I am only the sight."

Then realization finally dawned on her, that everyone but her was right, that it was not Bran that directed the animals, that directed Sandor to punish those who hurt her, that directed the victims to kill themselves... It was truly her - she was the monster whose hatred hungrily fed itself. In hurting those that her, she was also hurting and harming herself. She was becoming what she hated.

"NOOOOOO!" she screamed. The birds flew out, and the spiders and the ants crawled back through the holes. Cersei fainted, hitting her head hard on the ground.

Bran was wrong - he wasn't merely the sight, he was the match that lit her ire and hatred. Was she imagining him? Was she going mad? 

Breathing slowly, Sansa focused on the scar on her throat, the scars from Sandor's knife. That dark night was real - he meant to take her, take something from her. She was so scared, almost frozen. But then she sang, and there was light. She started to sing again - her voice started weak as if she had not used her voice for a long time, then it got stronger and higher, with the high notes trilled. As she sang the songs she loved before, she noted the moon shining, the top of the bay shimmering, and the birds flying high. She sang of hope, of rebirth and of growth, and of pure joy.

Her voice was soon joined by another. He sang of ice spreading over Westeros and the endless nights and darkness everlasting. He was calling to her to be his Queen who he would always keep safe. He would kill all those harm her. Every part of her yearned to be protected. 

But then she remembered. Arya flinging mud and food at her, giggling and running. Rickon growling like his direwolf. Brandon climbing and laughing. Robb's smile. Jon pouting. Father kissing Mother. Jeyne's twinkle in her eyes as they whispered secrets. Old Nan scaring them all with her stories. Even Sandor with his disdain for her chirping.

Instead of jumping out of her window and flying to the King, she grounded herself. She sung the Northern songs. Sansa remembered herself, a child who loved order, loved her family and friends, and loved beauty. She remembered the mud, the glorious snow. She remembered love.

When He asked her the last and final time to come with him, the apparition that looked like her brother Bran smiled, waiting for her response. 

_No._

Bran was gone, and the sun rose again.


	2. Chapter 2

The Queen celebrated the name's day for all of her immediate family although they all were long gone. She would have a small cake baked as the dead do not eat she said to her King with a smirk. When he asked if they spoke, she would never say (although she would smile that small secret smile).

The "party" was always held in the Godswood. At first, it was only her and then she allowed him to come. She introduced him to them all - Ned, her father whom she loved so much yet felt so much distance; Lady Catelyn, such a fierce woman who may have loved too much; her brothers, Robb, Bran and little Rickon, all wolves in their own way; and her sister, her nemesis when younger. It was strangely not sad for she often had good news to tell them - the birth of their babes; the rebuilding of the kingdom not only the buildings but mending of alliances that were torn apart in the war (she was proud of that and especially her husband); and the things she learned or accomplished that month. On Bran's fourteenth birthday, she sadly whispered of the babe they lost. But on the whole, there was more happiness than regret.

The babes also attended as she tended to them, not using nurse maids as she feared they would be take her babes from her. When the babes grew older, she gave them an option to attend if they wanted. All but their most demanding son and heir continued to attend them, even later attending when they were married and had children of their own. It was as if their children felt an almost visceral connection to the Stark spirits - little feral Marya was so like Rickon, sweet Edmure was a combination of Bran and Robb, but for their eldest son who although acted like Arya, seemed to fight the connection and fought his Stark heritage. Of all their children, Alayn, the eldest had her Tully hair but he defiantly dyed it blue. The King worried that her feelings were hurt but strangely, the Queen was just amused, murmuring that he was so like Arya.

The King knew if anyone outside their inner circle (which included their cook Hotpie) knew they would demand he put aside his mad Queen. Yet he could not deny her anything and indulged her in this. These rituals gave her peace and comfort that her family loved her and were with her. How could that be wrong?

On Lady Catelyn's fortieth namesday, the Queen was singing as she was wont to do with her children singing along and laughing merrily. Suddenly they all stilled; and Edmure started crying, blood coming from his eyes. The King was alarmed, but his wife held their middle child with their foreheads touching until he stopped crying.

She turned to him, and they all whispered to him, " **There will be blood. Do not drink. Do not eat. Give and do not take**."

And he did just that - that night each of the men who gave him wine to drink and fruits to eat died as he asked that the giver drink first and eat first. But when the King did the same for the jewels gifted to him, his eldest yelled and knocked the poisoned jeweled necklace from its case.

The would-be assassin's mask was dropped. It was a small woman, dark short hair and sad grey eyes.

_It was Arya!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A haunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first iteration - more sad than scary. The second is so angry and so OOC (not sure if I will post it).

She thought she locked that door and threw away the key. The mention of his name no longer caused any reaction from her - he was another enemy of their family who, no that was rightfully put down. 

She was no longer that girl. 

She was the respected Lady of Winterfell, and her surviving family members were with her, although they were damaged but never beyond repair. They were healing. And the brightest light was her boy, sweet little Mattias. His affectionate hugs and kisses were balms to their hurts and painful memories.

"Why do you not talk about my daddy? Anna told me that her father died fighting alongside Uncle Jon and Auntie Ayra. Did Daddy die in the war?"

Each sentence was like a mailed fist punching her stomach. Nay, the flick of a sharp blade as it peeled her like an apple. She could not breathe - she was there once again. 

Somehow her legs moved, running. She heard the dogs, barking and growling. She ran - it was so cold!

"Mama!!"

She wanted her mama. She wanted Father. _Oh Robb, what have they done to you?_

It would be over soon. She was always caught. But she kept running. It mattered naught that she did not feel her feet. Nay! She could hear the laughing taunts, "Run, run, little rabbit!"

When they caught her, she fought. _Not a rabbit, not a rabbit, not a ..._ Perhaps they would finally end it. If she fought them, anger them so much, maybe they would end her suffering.

"Sansa, stop!"

"Not a rabbit..."

"Nay, a wolf. You are a wolf, like us."

Blink, blink. Rickon. Arya. Pack. Blink. Blink.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Demian

Always before, there was a tinge of regret. She would think of her father, about his disappointment, of Mother and how she would be horrified, even Jon who would be angry. But they were not there, they left her. She nodded her assent.

The first was strangely unsatisfying even though there were so many ironies. Ramsey killed his own father, stabbing him like how his father ultimately betrayed Robb, and now his toddler with the same pale blue eyes did the same to his biological father, warging into Ramsey's dogs that hunted their former master (now the hunter became the prey) and tore him apart. His yells did not fill her with delight as she thought but instead disgusted her. But her babe Daemon's delight (pointing and gurgling Dada, the man who daily whipped Daemon and her) made her smile.

Then there were more - all of his men, the Bastard Boys. One by one, they fell until the snowy grounds were colored red with their blood being spilt. 

No one dared go near Dreadfort.

So when Daemon was old enough to travel, they went to the Vale to see a family friend. Sansa was shocked that the gate was closed, that they were not being received but instead not granted any entrance. Turning to seven year old Daemon, she decided to impart a lesson about good manners - pointing to the scared Vale men and that pointy faced Petyr, she told her son that those men did not exhibit good manners. Daemon delightedly ask if they need to be punished.

"Undoubtedly, yes, they should be taught a lesson."

"Mum, the North never forgets."

"Nay."

By mid-day, blood was seeping through the bottom of the gate; and there were no more screaming, only a few moans. She thought she would be horrified that many were slaughtered - she only managed to still the blade for Mya, Myranda, and the others who were lucky enough to be with them. But she was not - all men must die, wasn't that an old Valyrian saying? But for one, a slight man, as Daemon wanted a pet.

Then Daemon wanted to see the Red Keep and paint the walls with red. Before she nodded, she thought of the faces of the courtiers mocking her and watching her stripped and beaten. Perhaps they were too scared to help her. She decided that they did not deserve death, which made her boy giggle.

For his beloved mum, Daemon trapped Cersei alone in her room. The Queen was screaming when all the doors and windows shut close and she could not open them. She heard of stories of an avenging red haired angel and her blood thirsty cherub. She knew they were coming for her.

So when the door opened, and the girl she once mocked as being stupid and weak gracefully entered, Cersei laughed hysterically. Was she scared of this sheep?

But then Cersei looked more closely and noticed that the girl was no longer a meek, sweet little girl but a proud and confident woman. Taller than her, younger, and more beautiful. _Valonqar_? No, she could not be.

Backing away until her bony back hit the wall, Cersei watched in horror Sansa looking coolly at her, her beautiful face impassive. 

When the wait was almost unbearable, Sansa opened her mouth and spoke. Her teeth seemed so unnaturally sharp and pointed.

"Your Grace, do you have any last words?"

Cersei did not understand, could not comprehend what was happening, how this monstrous being was here. It must be a dream, a nightmare - she was still traumatized by the loss of her babes. That must be what this was - her overwhelming sadness manifesting in these nightmares. She wished Jaime was here - only he could take away those nightmares and night frights she had and make things better. She needed him but he left her.

"This is just a dream," Cersei said, trying to convince herself that this was not real even though she heard the wretched screams, loud noises and thumping sounds.

The red lady slowly blinked her eyes.

"You know, when I was here, I thought the same. That my prince, my betrothed, was not a cruel monster. That his beautiful mother, the Queen, was not the most hideous and vile creature who fucked her own brother. I thought it was a dream - I was wrong."

"You are not real... This is not real..."

Sansa walked slowly towards her, and Cersei saw Daemon who was hidden behind his mother's blood red dress. Unlike his mother, his face was split into a huge grin, showing his even sharper looking teeth. The boy executed a sharp bow as a greeting.

"I did not understand you, but now I do. You loved your son who everyone thought was a monster. I love my son... He is a sweet boy - he is just hungry..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snow said to give this genre a try again, and I did. I tried to write stories that scare me, but then I watch the news and realize that my tales are actually quite tame.


	5. Bewitched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa as a witch and Arya as a black cat with Jon being suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just plain silliness. Written for Jon x Sansa October Fanwork Challenge.

“Are you a witch because you bewitch me?” asked Jon.

Sansa snorted and almost spat out her nice rosé! She was having such a nice time at the new pub with Arya, checking out the people and listening to her sister’s snide comments (“tries too hard” and “should try harder”).

“Gads, Jon! That is an awful pickup line!” Sansa exclaimed, laughing but she noticed neither Jon nor any of the others were laughing.

It was Halloween. Everyone wore a costume. So what if she was dressed in black, in a long dress that was adorned with lacy spider webs, and wearing a pointy black hat? She could not help it that purring black cat Arya was perched on the next bar stool - she was thirsty! So what if she was cackling instead of giggling like a lady?

“What?!?!?!?!” she asked.

They all laughed but Jon, even shifty eyed Petyr who spent quite some time staring down her dress.

She leaned seemingly drunkenly to Jon, and whispered, “Don’t be scared… I don’t drink the blood of young pretty boys... anymore.”

 _Lick_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another haunting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was something I started on awhile back but decided now to post.
> 
> It started out with the "typical" type of haunting and then had the "spirit" herself being haunted by her memories. Strange drabble (or vignette) where there are two POVs and the flip occurs with the line 'Winter is coming.'
> 
> Note the italicized words are the thoughts of Sansa - she is able to communicate with Lady Stoneheart with her mind. 
> 
> What haunted me (lol) or inspired me was a line from "Of Things Past" from thefairfleming where Cat looked at Jon and Sansa and thought "That could be Ned. That could be me." And I thought of how she as Lady Stoneheart would view her Sansa with Jon, who looked so much like Ned.

_Does it always hurt so much?_

The white eyes widen, looking down at the man in deep slumber.

_No, not that. He does not hurt me - not even the first time. Living when so many died. The things I have done - I am so sorry..._

Mother touches her face. She leans into it, wanting to feel again the loving warmth of her mother, but there is only icy coldness. It matters naught as she hugs her mother so tightly as the ice burns her body. Mother flinches back when she realizes that she is hurting her baby girl, tears of blood streaming down her white eyes.

Her husband reaches for her, his body missing her warmth and softness. Blindly, his hand grabs her waist and tugs her away from her cold mother and towards his hot body. She laughed before that they do not need a fireplace in their room - he smirked then, pretending she meant something else. In his embrace, the hair on his arm and chest still slick with sweat, she felt safe again and loved. He nuzzled her hair and sloppily kissed her. Desperately she returned his kisses - soon, much too soon, he would leave. He had to - he was naught one to stay back protected, but instead always led the charge.

_Winter is coming. But please not for him._

Mother nodded slowly - she would watch over him. A man her daughter loved who was once a boy her own heart was poisoned against. But even then she did not want him dead. If Ned trusted her with the truth, would that change the way she acted? Ruefully, she shook her head as she knew that the boy then still endangered her children, all gone now but for her sweet girl Sansa... and Jon, who had the Stark look, so like Ned.

Mother left them when she heard his sleepy voice murmuring of his love for his sweet girl and Sansa's soft moans. She turned when she heard her brave girl whisper 'Come back to me,' words she wished she told her Ned.

"Always," he vowed, the words Ned never told her, the vows he could not keep.


End file.
